


Therapy

by Zelda148



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-25
Updated: 2012-11-25
Packaged: 2017-11-19 12:28:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/573267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zelda148/pseuds/Zelda148
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's still going to a therapist to get over Sherlock's death but then he see's a familiar face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy

"Now, tell me. How are you feeling today?" The voice is slightly patronising, as if speaking to a child, but soothing.

"I'm fine, I've told you, I'm fine."

"John, you can tell me. What have you been doing to keep your mind off it all."

"Working." His tone is defensive, his face turned away from her, body language screaming that he has closed himself off.

"At the doctor's office?" She's leaning forwards, hands on her knees expectantly. "John, I'm your therapist, tell me."

"Yeah, at the doctor's."

The rain's trickling down the window, drops dripping into each other and running down the foggy glass. His eyes blur and his ears block out the woman's persistent questioning. He can make out eyes, piercing blue, in the window; the expression in them smug and pointed. Looking further down he thinks he can see lips, upturned in a smirk. Something resembling a smile shows itself on his face before his mind reminds him of the dire circumstances.

"John. Did you hear me?"

"Oh, sorry. No. What did you say?" He looks back at her for a few seconds while speaking but his gaze quickly drifts to the window in the door, watching people pass by.

"What have you been doing other than work?"

"Nothing much, reading. I've seen a film or two with Mrs Hudson." Strolling by is a man, broad and short with receding hair. He goes through the door opposite, which swings closed behind him.

"John. Really?" Scolding him now he frowns unappreciatively at her. "It's been a year and a half John, you should be able to move on, okay?"

"I know. But I can't. I just can't." Looking through the door again his eyes widen in shock as he sees dark, curly hair and an upturned collar. "Sherlock?" He stands abruptly, knocking over the chair behind him.

"John, he's dead."

"No. I saw him." He runs out the door, hearing the calls of his therapist echo after him but ignoring them. "Sherlock!" The man's tall figure continues to recede, disappearing down the corridor, moving at a quicker pace than John can match.

He breaks into a sprint and catches up with him as he pushes the glass doors open into the rain.

"SHERLOCK!" Grabbing his shoulder he spins the man to face him. "Sorry." He bear resemblance, high cheekbones and pale skin but the eyes are different, a watery blue, and his jaw is softer, rounder. "Thought you were someone else."

"No problem mate." Another difference, his voice is higher and more forgiving; politeness not a familiar characteristic in the familiar face. The man smiles and walks away.

Sighing, John wanders away from the building, happy to be away from the restrictive walls and smell of antiseptic. Raindrops slip down his nose and land on his lips, the cold water refreshing on his skin. He zips up his coat but doesn't bother with his umbrella, relishing the freedom the weather represents. Soon his hair is soaked as is every piece of clothing.

Laughing dryly he sees the same man ahead of him and waves, acknowledging the victim he assailed earlier. The man is walking towards him, back towards the clinic.

He thinks he hears his name, and glances around himnself. Surrounded by umbrellas and bustling people he can't identify the caller so puts it down to his imagination.

"John." Clearer this time he hears the voice more distinctly, a low, rich voice that makes him jump. "John! Look at me." He ignores the voice, he's imagining it, it can't be. He looks ahead of himself again and over the head and umbrellas' of the other people he can see flashes of purple and that same upturned collar. He raises his head slightly, meeting the eyes of the man; the man that must be the same person from before.

"John." The eyes; they're bright blue, filled with arrogance but with a touch of something else: love. He's right infront of him now, face perfect and unscarred.

"Sherlock."

Flying into his embrace, their arms wrap around each other, lips meeting in a passionate kiss presenting the months of pent up emotions for everyone to see. A lone cheer errupts from the crowd but is ignored by both men. Pulling away, but only slightly, John sighs, resting his forehead against Sherlock's.

"I missed you." Sherlock lifts John's chin and kisses him again, slowly this time, savouring the touch.

"I missed you too." His reply comes, welcomed and confirmed by the soft touch of the man he disappeared for.


End file.
